One of These Days
by Copperboom Brazzlefrat
Summary: One of these days, they wouldn't be so afraid to stay with each other. LITERATI, future fic.
1. I Didn't Notice

**Summary: **One of these days, he wouldn't be afraid to stay with her.  He just hadn't realized that this day would sneak up on him so quickly … but she was worth it.  Literati, future fic.

**Rating: **Currently, PG.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor do I have ties to the WB, Gilmore Girls, any of its actors and actresses, its creator, or writers.  I'm just a fan.

**Chapter 1 – I Didn't Notice**

_"I think I may have loved you."_

She'd replayed her every word to him in her head over and over for the past six years.  The click of her cellphone closing echoed in her mind, reverberating, growing louder the longer she held onto the moment until is its crescendo culminated in a final slam, like she had just shut a large encyclopedia in an empty cathedral.  In pained her ears, her head, her heart, her soul.

"You're not thinking about this now!" Rory Gilmore, now 24-years-old reprimanded herself and slammed her open hand down on the desktop in front of her, in hopes to drag the remnants of her mind that were still stuck in her 18-year-old memory, to the present day.  "Damn …" she winced, looking at her reddening palm.

"You ok, Lorelai?" said a voice above her.

"Ah!" Rory jumped, and after catching her breath looked up.  Over the flimsy wall of her cubicle leaned a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, twenty-something female, fluttering her eye lashes.  "What is it, Jo?" Rory muttered, her voice laced with bitter annoyance.

"Are you ok?" Jo tried again, not sensing Rory's teetering patience.  Then again, Rory hadn't truly expected her to notice her tone of voice at all.

In the past year that she had spent sharing an office space with Jo, Rory had never quite warmed up to her.  This seemed to be the general course around the entire workplace.  Despite the fact that she was cheerful, bubbly, giggly, undeniably gorgeous, and even intelligent – to a point (thought not a point at which she could hold her own in a conversation about current events or politics) - she was the girl everyone humored and babied, expecting nothing but naivety from her, as she'd never left her high school attitude behind.  Her family and friends had never been impressed by Jo, either.  On all of their many visits to Rory's office, they'd walked away with nothing more than another person to make the butt of holiday jokes.  

Jo was one of "those girls" as her best friend Lane would put it – the kind she'd been on the cheerleading squad with, who truly thought genealogy was the study of blue jeans and whom no one had ever had the heart to tell otherwise.  

Rory failed to answer Jo's prodding, and found her mind drifting again …

_It had been just days before that moment in her office, when the Easter weekend became cause for celebration at the Gilmore residency.  Lorelai was coming in from the kitchen to the living room, sipping yet another Margarita, while walking on her tiptoes, trying to keep herself in balance – which was difficult as she stuck her chest, bra stuffed with over-sized water-balloons, out far ahead of the rest of her body._

_"Like totally!  I was the best cheerleader in high school – you should've seen my kick!" said Lorelai, imitating a cheerleader-esque kick, and then finally losing her balance, toppling over the coffee table, the glass in hand falling and shattering, the water balloons breaking on impact, sopping Lorelai's upper body, leaving her roll in a puddle of water as she laughed.  Her giggles were then followed by the chorus of tumultuous laughter ringing out from Rory, Lane and even Paris.  As Lorelai's arms flailed about in her laugher, her hand grazed the edge of yet another glass, knocking if off the coffee table.  Seconds later, the sound of the shattering encouraged more hysterics amongst the girls that were almost immediately hushed._

_"Shhh!  Wait, wait!" said Lorelai softly.  The girls' laughter stifled and Lorelai began counting down.  "3 … 2 … 1 …" and no sooner had she reached zero, when, over the dimly lit living room, the shadow of a tall man, standing atop the staircase, hovered over the room, and its occupants, who muffled even more laughter into their hands._

_"Lorelai!" bellowed the voice, and within seconds the laugher erupted again.  "Rory!  Lane … Paris?  C'mon!  Can't a guy get some sleep around here?"_

_"Cute PJs, Luke," Rory motioned toward the silhouette that now made his way down the staircase.  "But doesn't the flannel ever get old?  Haven't you though about a new pattern?  Stripes?  Polka-dots?  … Teletubbies?"_

_"I'm ignoring you now," Luke began, and as he proceeded to take an account of the damages done, he shot his hand out pointing at Lorelai preemptively "And I'm ignoring you as well."_

_"Why, Luke, I hadn't even taken a stab yet … I'm hurt," Lorelai faked sadness._

_"I'm just saving you the trouble of poking fun at me, when I'm simply going to ignore you, and not justify anything you say with anything remotely resembling a come back, or defense of myself," he said point blank._

_"So I guess that includes my suggestion for picture pajamas like Jackson's?" Lorelai tried her luck anyways, and the girls responded with laugher that became well-worth the attempt, despite Luke's rolling eyes and discontent._

_  
"Who needs picture pajamas?  Look at those slippers," Rory pointed at Luke's feet, scuffling into the kitchen in what appeared to be oversized – and also flannel – moccasins._

_Lorelai sat up, barely noticed that she was drenched and put her weight back on her hands as she threw her head back in laughter.  As she noticed Luke's dissent, she called after him.  "Hey!  How dare you walk away from us when we're mocking you in our … drunken madness!"  Lorelai ridiculed, the girls dissolving in laughter until Luke returned with a broom and dustpan._

_"Anyone order a Molly Maid?" Lorelai continued to poke fun at Luke, who took it nobly, only cleaning more diligently as the mocking continued.  When each and every remnant and shard of glass was swept into the pan and dumped in a wastebasket, he returned the broom and dustpan to the kitchen._

_"When did we get a broom?  And a dustpan?" Rory inquired after Lorelai._

_"I don't know," Lorelai giggled harder as Luke appeared in front of her once more, standing over her.  Looking upwards, Lorelai asked "When did we get a broom and a dustpan, Mary Poppins?"_

_"I picked them up awhile back.  They're necessary household cleaning items that you were lacking," Luke began, the girls laughing harder at him and muttering about the absurdity of the Gilmore girls ever owning cleaning products. "Geez, I didn't realize that moving in with my girlfriend meant playing chaperone for her – and her daughter, and friends, all of whom are grown women, I might add – at all odd hours of the night," Luke continued, pointing to the clock which read 2:14 AM, "in the midst of their alcohol-deluded antics.  Only in this house, with you, would 'happy hour' start at 6 PM and go on for 8 hours."_

_"We were just celebrating," Lorelai's voice grew softer._

_"Yea.  Well that's about all the celebrating you get 'til New Years'," said Luke._

_Lorelai rested her weight backwards on her elbows, and looked up at Luke, pouting like a little girl._

_"Oh now, don't do that …" Luke attempted to stay strong while she played his weakness, and finally concluded to walk behind her, stepping over the mess of junk food on the floor and take hold of her under the arms to pull her up.  She slipped on a puddle of something – whether it was alcohol or water was unclear – and stumbled to her feet, grasping onto Luke for support, who, once she was standing still and firm, turned her to the girls._

_"Say goodnight, Lorelai," Luke was stern._

_Lorelai looked over them, then focused on Rory "Goodnight, Lorelai!" which was not funny only because she was defying Luke, using a childish tactic to rebel, but yet was truly saying goodnight to Rory.  The laughter erupted again as Luke attempted to force a disgruntled, but still giggling Lorelai up the stairs, finally resulting to picking her up and carrying her to bed._

"Lorelai?  Lorelai?  Are you sure you're ok?" asked Jo, bringing Rory back to reality.

"Oh, oh yea … Thanks, Jo.  Just uh, deadline stress, you know?" Rory sought out an excuse.

"Yea, I understand Lorelai," Jo said, sinking back into her cubicle.  Rory sighed relief, blowing stray hairs out of her face.

Of course, Jo would never really know deadline stress.  She'd been getting paid the same pennies as Rory for a year to simply traipse all over Boston and report on new and upcoming fashion, with little hopes of ever boosting her junior writer status.  Rory, on the other hand, had worked diligently from square one, looking for interesting stories and new angles, always trying to be ahead of deadline.  But roughly 365 days later, she was still a bottom feeder.  It wouldn't have bothered her so much, had someone like Jo not ended up being what was her apparently equivalence.  While Rory was brighter, more talented, and possessed more potential than Jo could ever hope to boast in a lifetime, right now it was all simply that – potential.  Rory was still constrained by her job, and as things stood now, she would, at the end of two weeks, earn a paycheck that read the exact same amount as Jo's, down to the very last cent.

But despite this feeling of detest towards Jo, and her job by extension – as strange as that was – she still got an incredible adrenaline rush when she saw her name in print.  Rory tried to gain focus on her work again, staring at the sloppy, barely readable notes on the pages of her Steno pad, but try as she might to fight it, she felt herself being dragged back into the dream world.

_"So did you get the first issue?" Rory asked into the receiver excitedly._

_"Yep, it's right here!  'The Boston Globe' – not quite the Times, but it has a nice ring to it-" Lorelai began before Rory interjected._

_"Have you found it?"  Rory pushed.  "It's a human interest story."_

_"I'm looking, I'm looking, I'm looking …" Lorelai's voice was drowning out as her concentration and search became more fervent, her fingers tracing the pages in search of … "Ah ha!  Here it is.  'The price of war: The outstanding bill' by … Lorelai Gilmore?" Lorelai ended in question._

_There was silence._

_"This article is by you, right?" asked Lorelai._

_"Yes …" Rory answered._

_"Then why is it bylined with my name?" Lorelai was muttered with slight confusion._

_"Well technically, it's my name, too.  It's not my fault that you were all wacked out on Demerol," Rory said plainly._

_"Well yea, I guess … It's just … you've always been Rory.  To me, to Luke, to Lane … to everyone, everywhere.  In elementary school, middle school, high school, college-" Lorelai tried to sort this out._

_"What's your point?" Rory said incredulously._

_"Why?  Why the change?" Lorelai's curiosity pressed on._

_"Well … it's my legal name.  And it sounds more professional.  It separates … who I was in high school and college from who I want to be in print," said Rory._

_  
"Which is?" Lorelai was still confused._

_"Lorelai Gilmore, junior writer … senior writer, eventually.  If I can swing it.  If I don't transfer before I reach that point," Rory tried to evade her true reason._

_"Well, I don't get it," Lorelai said indolently._

_"You don't have to.  All you have to know is that that is the name I'm going by, and that is my article, now what do you think?"  Rory was anxious to move past this topic._

_"Oh the article? … The article is great, Hon …" Lorelai praised, softly._

The truth was that after college, Rory had wanted nothing more than to separate who she'd been from who she was in the workspace.  She had forever worn her heart on her sleeve, and those years of being the always caring, always open, always loving Rory to everyone were wearing thin on her.  She could only live that life in one place.  She didn't want to share her personal details with her coworkers, she didn't want to be a topic of discussion in the news room when all other gossip was low.  Lorelai Gilmore, was a calm, cool, composed writer with excessive talent, with little to nothing to mention or share about her personal life, with the exception of occasional visits from her mother or friends.

And suddenly, she felt trapped in her tiny cubicle as her thoughts were once again overcome by the thoughts of that one, fateful line: _"I think I may have loved you."   It was that instance and the moments preceding it, and following it shortly thereafter that became one of the true, defining moments in her life.  It dictated the way she lived out every moment of her life from the second the phone closed up until that very second._

While she'd spend the better part of her 6 years pretending to be "fine" and did a nice job playing the part a great majority of the time, there was a piece of her mind and heart that longed for him.

She tried to ignore it.  She'd visit her grandparents, have fun with her mother and friends, and while her love life was … well, meager … it wasn't obsolete, simply cluttered with short-lived relationships, kisses that never amounted to anything, near-misses, and attractions based solely on physique or a similar favorite movie and nothing more.  When all of these methods failed, she devoted herself entirely to her school work and then, to the _Globe_.  As an added bonus – if there was any true plus to her newest living and working situation – was the location of her residency.  Living in the heart of Boston, Rory was literally minutes away from the one thing which she could devote all her excess time to that was not encased in a computer monitor or a book: her 6-year-old sister Georgia.  Her relationship with Christopher still experienced tentative moments, and Sherry's need to dote excessively over not just Christopher, and GiGi, but Rory as well often tested her patience.  But, GiGi's attention and the sense that they were indeed her family, minus the obligation to let them read into her every tiny action (as opposed to the custom of being part of the giant Stars Hollow family) was comforting.  When she longed for her mother, Stars Hollow, and the comfort living there had brought her for eighteen years, it was this that kept her urges to make the permanent move back, at bay.  She knew in her heart that, despite her love for Stars Hollow, being there for the shortest amounts of time now triggered an even stronger sort of flashback that grew harder and harder to fight away with each visit.

And if none of these things could keep her withdrawn, she had the security of knowing that she always had her roommate and friend, Paris, whose psychosis was constant reminder of how sane Rory actually was.  After their graduation from Yale, where Paris had transferred to from Princeton her sophomore year after she and Jamie's bitter breakup, Paris applied to Harvard for graduate school and was finally accepted, ensuring that every generation of the Gellar name would remain etched in Harvard history.  For all the time Rory had spent trying to shake Paris, when it came time for her to find a job and that job was to be a junior writer at _The Boston Globe_ (her last choice, but a job no less), it was a relief to find that Paris was too, looking for someone to share living quarters with.

But yet with all these distractions, she still missed him.  She scolded herself for missing a teenage relationship that had barely amounted to anything, but it didn't stop the fact that she did miss him more by the day.  When the phone rang, she secretly hoped to hear his voice, when the mail arrived, she hoped to see his handwriting scrawled across the front of an envelope.  Whenever she saw or heard from Luke – which was quite often, considering he lived with Lorelai now – she hoped he'd have a message to pass on from him, since she knew that he'd been in contact with him and even visited him over the years at his various places of residence.  Though these hopes were also fruitless, through prying, she managed to learn that he'd returned to New York City, which added a new wish to her list – possibly, during one of the few reporting stints that brought her to the city, she'd run into him.  It was a farfetched idea, and she'd realized that all along – New York was a huge city, millions of people walked the streets every day.  So, when she didn't run into him, she at least had a well-developed reason … but all the preparation in the world couldn't have prevented the disappointment she felt anyways.  Hope as she may, wish as she might, pray hard as she could, it seemed that their paths were destined to never cross again.  It broke her heart.

Six years had passed since the day she had talked to him … or at least … whom she had though was him.  Now, she even began to question whether she hadn't simply given the what-for to a complete stranger that she'd assumed to be him.  But nevertheless, it had been six years since she confessed that she might have loved him.  And if it had been him, then why had he not replied to her, or gotten in touch later?  Maybe they'd never connected like she'd thought they had.

A pang of angst hit her hard, combined with a yearning that was both for him and for the arms of her mother.  And as though cued by telepathy, the phone rang.  She once again, forced her hopes down her throat so she could answer the phone with a practical composure as opposed to nervous shaking, and then finally answered.

"Ror- … Lorelai Gilmore, speaking," she answered.

"Rory!?"

"Oh, hey Mom.  You sound … excited," Rory tried to muster up some fake, but anxious curiosity and enthusiasm.

"I am," Lorelai said.

"Why?" Rory asked.

"Guess."  Lorelai prodded.

"I'm no good at your guessing games," Rory pointed out.

"Guess." Lorelai wasn't giving in.

"Uh … Luke finally agreed to bid on your basket, without a single argument prior to the auction or any sarcasm during the bidding?" Rory took a shot in the dark.

"Better … he proposed!  We're getting married!" Lorelai screamed.

"Really?  Oh my God!  When did he propose? When's the ceremony?  Oh my God, congratulations!" she said with as much enthusiasm as she could express without scaring Jo into oblivion.

This was the largest amount of instantaneous happiness Rory had felt in years.  After dating for what was now five years, and pining after each other for years prior to that, Lorelai was finally marrying Luke, who had been like a father to Rory during the times of her own father's absence.  She was ecstatic, and elated, her mind flying to bridesmaids dresses, and a giant bridal shower in the center of town, she'd have to rearrange her vacation days so she could take all three weeks for the wedding.  Rory was a pro at this, what with all the weddings she'd witnessed at the Independence Inn in its day, and even a few she'd helped with at the Dragonfly.  There were plans to make – Sookie should start a menu now, so that she'd have enough time to revise it two or three good times before the actual date, a dress would have to be found, there were invitations to fill out – hundreds of invitations, and plenty of relatives that they couldn't leave out …

That's when it hit her, and her happiness was deflated.  She was sure Lorelai was buzzing about something she should hear – the details of the proposal, of the wedding.  But the second she thought about relatives, her mind could only focus on one thing: the infamous nephew of the groom to be, who would certainly be invited.  Then it was a whole different kind of feeling, a jealousy she'd never felt, the feeling that this should be her, calling her mother to let her know that she was going to be married.  And she missed him, desperately … but was terrified to see him all at the same time.  Suddenly, her shoulders seemed to be holding up at least a hundred pounds more weight than they had been just minutes ago.  Now, she would have to face up to her past, even though it had haunted her for years and she would have to face the final realization that she had failed to realize in that final phone call.

As she replayed the moment over in her head again … "_I think I may have loved you"_… she felt as though her lungs would have the wind knocked out of them by the intense beating of her heart.  There was no "may have" about it.  She has loved Jess Mariano with all her heart and soul, and in some strange way, she still did, and she wasn't sure what that meant to her now … or what it would mean in the course of the next few months.

She'd always wanted to see him again, but it always seemed as though the world had not been on her side, and the likelihood that she would actually have to stand in front of the person that conquered her every free moment to think had always seemed slim.  But suddenly, her dream world of flashbacks and "what-ifs" was suddenly merging lanes with the reality world and becoming more horrific by the moment, and for the first time in years, drawing herself out her subconscious was easy – and seemed to safer than actually thinking about how she would manage to handle her mother's wedding with grace.  

"We want it to be soon," she tuned back in soon enough to hear Lorelai say.

"Uh … how soon?" Rory was afraid to hear the answer to her question.

"A month and half.  Two months tops.  How soon can you get out of work?" Lorelai asked in excitement.

Rory sighed, blowing the stray hairs out of her face again, and settled back into her chair searching her mind for any story idea or deadline that could possibly hold her back from facing all of this any sooner.


	2. But I Didn't Care

**Summary: **One of these days, he wouldn't be afraid to stay with her.  He just hadn't realized that this day would sneak up on him so quickly … but she was worth it.  Literati, future fic.

**Rating: **Currently, PG.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor do I have ties to the WB, Gilmore Girls, any of its actors and actresses, its creator, or writers.  I'm just a fan.

**Chapter 2 – But I Didn't Care**

"'The end of man is knowledge, but there is one thing he can't know.  He can't know whether knowledge will save him or kill him.  He will be killed, alright, but he can't know whether he is killed because of the knowledge he has got or because of the knowledge which he hasn't got, and which if he had it, would save him," Jess Mariano read aloud from the book in his hand as he weaved his way in and out of the rows of his classroom.  He continued, "This passage, though it is found at the very beginning of the novel, is one of the main themes of the novel, and is a structural vehicle that pushes the rest of the novel.  Mister Robert Penn Warren so carefully weaves this passage into the rest of the text that the likelihood of you actually noticing its importance and relevance is even slimmer than the odds that half this class won't just dig up the Cliff's Notes before the test.  All The King's Men is laced with these kinds of literary devices and hidden clues to the future of its characters and the world in which they live.  So based on what I've just told you, let's see what assumptions you lackadaisical fools can make about this nonsense."  

Jess' eyes searched the room for his first victim – possibly a girl passing notes or a group of them passing around a nail polish bottle, or a guy drawing pictures of cars.  'Even better,' thought Jess, as he laid eyes on a napping teenage boy whose attitude in class strikingly resembled his own at the age of 17.  "Mr. Turner!" Jess bellowed, as he stood over him and watched him awaken from his nap, looking thoroughly disgruntled. 'I love this part of the job,' Jess reveled.

"What?" the boy snapped.

"I'm so glad that my teaching doesn't get in the way of your beauty sleep, Mr. Turner, and I would be happy to let you go back to sleep if – and only if – you can tell me this.  What can you assume about the purpose of the passage I just read to the class and lectured on is?" Jess challenged him.

"That if you _assume_ anything you make and ass out of you and me?" the boy's voiced resonated with sarcasm.

"Clever, Mr. Turner, but not nearly as clever as the comebacks you manage to stir up for me when you're awake.  I'm disappointed in your wit, I expect better from you – and you can start by at least pretending to pay attention the rest of my class.  Only five minutes – I think you can handle it," Jess' reprimand encouraged.  "Now then.  Someone who has been paying attention to me, could perhaps, tell the whole class the significance of this passage."

A hand shot up in the air on the other side of the room, near the back corner.  The owner of the arm was a pretty girl, no older than seventeen, with shoulder length brown hair and stunning blue eyes that sent Jess' heart a painful shock of bittersweet memories that were filled with vivid images of a girl from his past.  They left him feeling nostalgic, melancholy, and at this point, very grateful for the end of class.

"Yes, Ms. Bishop?" Jess called on her anyways.

"It has to be some sort of foreshadowing," said the girl.

"And? … C'mon Bishop, I know that you of all people in this class have got better than that.  Give me something that the average Joe wouldn't," Jess encouraged.

"Well … it's a Biblical allusion, right?  To the story of Adam and Eve, in the Old Testament," she continued.

"You get points for perceptiveness and drawing parallels, Ms. Bishop, but what I'm wondering is what this passage can _mean – not only to the novel as a whole, but to an individual reading this book.  What is Warren telling us, as readers?" Jess prodded her._

"I would suppose … that the passage is telling us to live life.  To not be afraid of having knowledge that can save you, or of letting yourself feel what you fear, because this may be the only thing that can save you from death … or insanity," and with that, she'd nailed it right on the head.

But Jess felt as though the nail went straight into his heart, causing him to hold back a wince of pain.  As he held back, he felt his mind being pulled back to his past …

"Why aren't you going to college?"  Rory fixated her stare on him as he drove.  Jess tried to avoid it.

_"Please …" he responded._

_"What?  Please what – why is it so crazy?" Rory wasn't going to drop this.  Jess glanced over at her, despite his better judgment.  He eyes were on fire.  She truly could not see why he couldn't go to college.  He loved that she was still like a little girl sometimes, that her naivety still let her see the good in everyone.  He hated that feeling in his gut that he would be nothing more than a disappointment to her. _

_"Ask my mother, she could give you a couple reasons.  Oh, and I'm sure Principal Martin can chime in with a few good ones.  In fact, ask you mother.  She doesn't know me all that well, but I'm sure she could improvise a few things," Jess tried to explain as well as he could with out being harsh.  He wished he could just use the same excuse he used everywhere else: "Look, I'm a failure, forget about me, I'll get out alive."  But he couldn't.  Not with Rory.  He couldn't disappoint her, he couldn't see that look of sadness in her eyes – it'd be like telling a little kid that there wasn't a Santa Claus.  Maybe worse.  And of course, part of him – a very small part of him – was flying.  This was the first time anyone had truly believed him – or at least the first time they'd vocalized it.  Everyone has always told him to do well … but he wasn't ever sure than any of them had ever believed it would happen. _

_"Do not give me that that whole 'I'm so misunderstood, Kurt Cobaine-y thing.'  You are way stronger than that and I don't even wanna hear it.  You have to go to college," Rory called the shots._

_'That's the problem.  I'm not misunderstood.  I'm understood.  People just know I'm a failure.  I've screwed things up enough before, no one is going to let me live it down,' he thought.  But instead, he just said "No.  You have to go to college."_

_"But you don't have any plans?" Rory sounded surprised._

_"Yes.  I plan to get out of Stars Hollow," Jess said bluntly.  He hoped she didn't take it personally._

_"And go where?" Rory almost seemed worried about where he could possibly go outside of Stars Hollow.  Maybe she would miss him if he was gone.  'Nah, Mariano.  Don't fool yourself.  You're stepping into territory that is way out of bounds.' _

_"Wherever," Jess became aloof._

_"And do what?" Rory interrogated._

_"Whatever," Jess continued to evade the topic. _

_"Wherever, whatever," Rory mocked._

_"I'll live where I'll live, I'll work when I need money, and I'll see where I end up," Jess tried to bring the conversation to a hault.  'This is your easy out clause, Gilmore. Run while you can.  I'm a failure, and I don't want to bring you down with me.  Realize that now,' he was trying to contact her telepathically without saying the words._

_"You could do more," Rory pressed._

_'Or don't realize that,' he thought to himself._

'What I wouldn't pay to see the look on her face if she were to see me now,' Jess imagined. 'Hell, what I wouldn't pay just to see her face.'

"Mr. Mariano?  Mr. Mariano?  Are you alright?" a voice brought him back to his classroom, her blue eyes, bearing such a resemblance to Rory's that they startled whatever little bit of his mind that had still been drifting back to reality.

"Uh, yea.  Very good, Ms. Bishop-" Jess' voice was interrupted by the long, drawn out tone that signaled the end of the school day.  "Outta time.  Have a nice weekend.  Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Now scram."  He waited for the remainder of his students to file out of the room, and he closed the door when the classroom was finally empty.

The silence allowed him to begin his downward spiral back into thoughts, memories and daydreams of Rory that had barely resurfaced when Jess' cellphone rang out from its clip on his belt.

He hated that damn phone, but it was impossible to go without it nowadays.  After all, he was responsible for another life now.

It had been less than a year since he'd moved back to New York City, and his mother had become increasingly dependent upon him in this time of her life that was old age, for her.  Liz's past had caught up with her.  She suffered from a brittle case of diabetes, and an ulcer.  Her face had ages to what appeared to be at least 60 years old – when in reality, she was only 48.  Her liver was hard as a rock from the excessive amount of alcohol she'd managed to consume over the years.  Jess was amazed at the amount of liquor bottles and beer can cans he had managed to scrape up within the house when he made his surprise return.

As it had turned out, sending Jess off had been the worst thing for Liz.  While he'd been around, she'd spend her excess time chasing after him, and what punishment he would endure next.  The havoc Jess had wreaked on her life was the only stability her existence knew.  Once he was gone, all she was left with were the attempts at love that only ended with her sinking in depressing – alcohol had been her favorite remedy.

Jess recognized this.  At least he did now.  When he was 17 years old, he thought his mother was simply abandoning him so she could party and drink more than she did while he lived with her.  It seemed like he was getting the crummy end of the deal.  But leaving for Stars Hollow and the whole string of events that were initiated by his moving there had been the best thing that had happened to Jess – in a roundabout way, that is.  And despite the fact that he'd yet to fully reconcile with his mother and their differences, he felt he owed her.  

She had sent him away, which had in eventuality been good for him – and which to Liz became a self-deprecating measure.  He knew that Liz had never sent him away out of love, compassion or out of true caring for his well-being.  No, Liz has sent him away out of avoidance, and so that _she could escape him.  But all these things put aside, she was still family and in the past eight years since he'd stepped off the bus in Stars Hollow, he'd come to true realizations about family._

Luke had come to be his biggest source of support – he didn't know that of course.  Jess continued to revert to his 17-year-old persona around Luke, treating him like he was the most annoying person on the face of the earth.  And though this was still true of many of Luke's tendencies, Jess found Luke was the person he most respected in his life.

Jess had been all over in the past six years since he'd left Stars Hollow.  He's lived in Venice Beach for roughly six months, where he received his G.E.D.  Then, he moved to Sacramento where he'd gone to a junior college for a few years before deciding that California life would never really suit him entirely.  But somehow, he'd managed to scrape up enough decent grades and credits to transfer to Northwestern University in Illinois.  ("It was some sort of freak accident," Jess told Luke, whose jaw dropped when he heard about Jess' acceptance.)  Jess received his degree in English Literature with certification to teach, and returned to Stars Hollow where he hid out for a few short weeks until he'd managed to secure a teaching job at a private school in Manhatten.  Through all this, somehow he'd managed to continue touching base with Luke, who had taught him essentially everything he knew about family in one lesson: you don't turn your back on them entirely.  Not ever.

As angry as Luke had been with Jess dropping out of high school, screwing up with Rory – and with himself – and then booking it without so much as a goodbye, it had only been a few weeks before Luke had managed to hunt Jess down in Venice Beach and call.  Since, Jess hadn't been able to shake him – and after awhile, he hadn't wanted to.  Jess even visited Luke willingly.  These visits usually warranted no notice.  He'd showed up on a few St. Patrick's Days with beer for he and Luke – this was the only safe holiday he could figure to sneak in unnoticed and without confrontation with … anyone.  Now that he was back in the area, sometimes he'd still escape to Stars Hollow for a quiet weekend or day off.  With Luke living at Lorelai's place now, the apartment was his for the taking – he'd never given back his key – so sometimes, he'd slip in late in the evenings, open up the diner early and split a few days later with as little notice as he'd given before arriving.  He could only tolerate the feeling Stars Hollow brought back for so long.  He could only tolerate Lorelai who would inevitably show up especially, and before Luke's move, she'd even visited the apartment space – much to Jess' dismay.  The death looks didn't bother him, neither did the bitter tone of voice, or the continual feeling of a hole the size of Montana being burnt into the back of his head every time he turned his back.  But after a few days, Lorelai would start throwing around scare tactics – usually a possible visit from Rory – and be they true or not, they were enough to get Jess out of town quickly.  But he made it a point to call Luke a few days after he'd returned.

Jess and Jimmy Mariano's relationship would always remain nothing more or less than complex, but the six months Jess had spent in Venice Beach had easily been the best time of his life.  The realizations that came to Jess in those months were priceless intangibles that quickly became the only things he could truly hold onto and cherish without a pang in the region where he'd figured his fully functioning, warm-blooded heart had once lived to beat, but was now so numb that it was just a giant chuck of ice, the pangs simply a result of another shard of ice breaking off and settling in his blood stream causing him to run cold for days.  These cold periods had plagued him his entirely life, but it was the knowledge of the traits which he had inherited from his father – his love for reading, his eclectic music taste, his low tolerance for the great majority of young children – that first, reassured him that he hadn't been adopted, and second that in the grand scheme of things, he had somehow turned out alright.  The brunt of these traits were luckily results of his father's genetics – not those of his poor disheveled mother.  Somehow, in the womb, he's managed to hang onto the good and not the bad.  Of course, when he was in a particularly bad mood, this theory often made him wonder if his most intelligent and promising period in life hadn't been before he was actually born – and then it had all gone downhill from there.  But he was still more grateful for this knowledge than he could be for any other period to speak of since his departure from Stars Hollow.

There were only three people in his life that he could consider to be family.  He'd reconciled with two of them, and while, two out of three ain't bad … he still couldn't help but feel he hadn't even tried with his mother.  He'd yet to make some sort of dent in their troubles, or at least establish a coexistant relationship with some mutual respect for each other on each end.

So when he'd showed up at the apartment that day, and after cleaning up the mess of strewn empty alcohol bottles and was simply sitting on the couch reading, appropriately, More, Now and Again by Elizabeth Wurtzel, and waiting for her to return home from her part time job doing low-wage secretarial work a few blocks away, he had made up his to become her chaperone.  Of course, there was more to it than that.  There was first of all, the shouting match that came when Liz walked in the door that began with "What in the hell are _you_ doing here?" followed shortly by "Where the hell is my vodka?" and ending with "Rehabilitation? AA!?  Honey, you're the one that needs to be checked in, 'cause you've got to be on drugs to suggest that … _what do you mean you're not joking?"  Eventually she gave in. _

His struggles had only just begun.  He found himself making her the doctors appointments she refused to make, driving her to therapy and waiting in the office for her, performing regular searches of her house for any signs of alcohol, picking up prescriptions then making sure she took them, and any other suggestions that the doctors gave him to help her clean up and stay cleaned up, and remain as healthy as possible.

Once he'd secured his job in New York, he moved to the village, but he couldn't convince Liz to move out of Brooklyn.  It was one of the few decisions in her life which she was still in control of and intended to hang onto that control as long as she could – which would be until they had to plug her into a machine to keep her alive, she reminded Jess every time he began to forcefully suggest her moving closer to him.  "I like where I live.  My friends live here.  My job is only a few blocks away; I can just walk there.  It'd be too far otherwise, and I'm not lettin' you drive me anywhere else.  I can be a little independent; I'm not decrepit yet, Jess," she'd rattle on.  And Jess, would tell her that of course, she was not decrepit – yet – but that if she kept walking to work, she may as well count on it because she really needed to get that hip replaced and that her walk to work and from work was about all the walking she could handle every other day as it was.  But he didn't take that role from herjust yet.

And so, he purchased a cell phone, which she proceeded to call him on all the time, making him hate the damn phone more.  "Can you pick up my prescription from the pharmacy?" "Can you stop by newsstand and pick up the 'Enquirer' for me?" "Do I have to go to this doctor today?  I really don't feel like it."  He expected this afternoon to be no exception, and fully expected to look at the caller ID and see that the name "Cruella" (the affectionate term he had dubbed her with his phone book – possibly the only good feature on the damn thing) flash on the display screen.  But today, it was a number he didn't recognize.

His heart stopped in his chest.

He rarely got wrong numbers or unrecognizable numbers – barely anyone knew his cell phone number – but what if?  What if it was her?

'You have to stop playing these games with yourself,' his conscience disciplined him.

"Jess Mariano," he answered.

"I know who you are, dimwit," said a gruff voice.

"Excuse me?" Jess was confused.

"I said I know who you are.  And why do you answer the phone like that anyways?  You're a teacher – not a celebrity … or a lawyer.  And a cell phone?  Didn't I teach you better?  You hate cell phones, in the first place, and in the second place, they cause brain cancer and contribute to the stupidity and lack of common sense in our society, what with all the people who truly think they can walk and drive while using them – you're not driving are you?" the voice asked.

"Uh, no …" Jess stammered.

"Good.  Well anyways, you shouldn't be using it.  One day, they will prove that they cause brain cancer, and I will be sitting with you saying 'See, wise-ass, I told ya.'  It's the same thing I'll be telling Lorelai when the doctors tell her that her arteries are clogged not just with fat, but with actual pieces of food that her body could pass off as a walking 24-hour-mini-mart," the voice rambled on.

"Luke?" Jess checked.  This could only be Luke.

"Yea, what?" Luke answered.

"Sorry, I was just checking.  See, most people address themselves on the phone so the person their talking to isn't thoroughly confused the whole time," Jess pointed out as he began to gather this things off his desk and put them in his briefcase.

"Sorry, but I'm not gonna take a page out of your book.  If I ever answer or address myself on a phone like you do, I want someone to cram the phone receiver into my right ear and hammer it in there until sticks out the left, and then I want to be buried that way.  Got it?" Luke replied.

"Did I give you this number?" Jess waved off his nonsense.

"What?" Luke evaded the question.

"_Did I give you this number?" Jess said with more emphasis and irritation._

"All that matters is that I got it, right?" Luke asked.

"No, 'cause I distinctly remember only giving you my apartment number, and making many mental notes not to give you this number," Jess quipped.

"I called, you weren't there," Luke defended.

"That's because I'm at work.  But we have voicemail," Jess told him.

"Glad to know that you've fully succumbed to the madness of modernization.  But it wouldn't have mattered 'cause that guy – Sam? Your roommate? – he answered the phone," Luke told him.

"Coulda left a message," Jess pointed out.

"He offered up your cell phone number.  I took it."  Luke explained.

"And you do realize that by calling my cell phone, you are encouraging my usage of a device that you hate," Jess reminded him.

"You do realize that if you didn't have it, that it wouldn't even be an issue?" Luke countered.

"Yes, and I wouldn't be wasting perfectly good minutes on a call which you initiated in the first place that has produced nothing but worthless banter and absolute confusion on my part as to why you called my phone in the first place," Jess was now completely frustrated.  He had places to be, errands to run, papers to grade, none of which he could or would do while occupied with a call from his occasionally stark-raving-mad uncle.

"Like you're really wasting minutes.  No one wants to talk to you," Luke evaded him further.

"Now apparently, you aren't familiar with how cell phones got a bad name in the first place.  It wasn't brain cancer Luke – it was drug dealers.  So see, you biggest fear should be whether or not the radiation will begin rotting my brain, but rather the fact that I deal on the side to make a little extra cash.  This is my business line – you could be getting in the way of a big sale," Jess said, his voice threaded with bitter sarcasm.

"Jess …" Luke was becoming exasperated.

"Luke?" Jess followed suit.

"What?" Luke asked.

"Why are you calling my cell phone?  What was so important that I couldn't wait?" Jess interrogated.

"What makes you think it's something important?" Luke was going to fight to the death to evade this one.

"Two things.  One, you spent half this conversation rambling, which Lorelai an Ror-" he stopped himself "do when they … uh, her.  Lorelai, I mean – is trying to get something important out.  You caught that from her – not one of the most redeeming qualities you could've chosen either.  Second, you and I don't tend to talk on the phone that much – just here and there, and only to check in, which I did last week, so I'm not overdue for at least another week or two, because we can barely find enough small talk to fill five minutes worth of conversation every few weeks, since we both have mutually decided that the details and play by plays of our daily lives are only interesting over a few good beers.  So, if you could please just fess up so I can get over to Mom's and get home before 7 PM, that would be just super," his voice became fake at the end of his spiel.

"Ok then … so … here it is.  I'm getting married …" Luke waited for a reply, but Jess was dead on the line, stunned.  "To Lorelai.  I'm getting married to Lorelai.  Soon.  Within two months.  We don't have an exact date set yet but, well, we want it to be soon … and I want you to be there, whenever it is," Luke took a break.  It was though he could see Jess begin to cringe even over the barriers of the phone and knew what the cause of it was when he began to speak again. "Look, I know how many boundaries that would overstep for you and that it would require you to dissemble that brick wall you've been building around yourself for the past six years, but I figured if I gave you a two month head start you could at least manage to make a hole to climb through, take down enough so you could climb over, or start digging a tunnel underneath it. … Look, I'm not nearly as good with the cute wordy suggestions as Lorelai, so point blank, you need to be there.  It's important to me, really important, because you are basically the only family I have left that I really want there – of course if you could convince Liz to leave her cave, I guess she'd be welcome. B ut anyways … I want you there, and you can't run from her forever, Jess," Luke finished.

"Run from who?" Jess played the evasive card this time.

"Rory," Luke said.

"I'm not running from Rory," Jess denied it, rubbing his forehead.  Suddenly, his head had begun to ache.

"You are too.  You've been running for years.  Six of them, I might add, and I think you'd be surprised to know that it probably won't be as bad as you think.  And it certainly won't be as bad as pining away in solace like you have been since you left," Luke took a stab.

"I'm not running.  And I'm not pining.  I haven't been pining.  I've never pined over anyone.  Ever," he denied.

"Right, right," Luke wasn't convinced.

'Damn him for knowing me too well,' Jess thought.

"And anyways, who are you to make judgment about whether or not it will be as bad as I think?  I have nothing that can back that up.  NOTHING!  And I've gotten no help from you on that, I might add.  You won't tell me anything.  You won't tell me when she's going to be in town, or how she's been, or what she's doing?  I've had to guess.  And you won't even confirm my guesses.  But you'll give me her phone number, her address, her email address if I want it.  That's all I get, over and over and over," Jess ridiculed.

"You wouldn't stay in town when Lorelai would scare you off with ideas of her visiting – half of which, were just tricks by the way – so don't try and convince me that you would've come back here searching her out if you knew.  She's always home at traditional holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Labor Day Weekend.  Unfortunately, she has never shown up for St. Patrick's Day, it's not exactly a widely celebrated Gilmore holiday.  But you're right, I won't tell you anything more than her address, or phone number or email address – which by the way, if you still want, you can have.  If you want to know about her life, or her, you have to find out yourself, Jess.  I won't be your go-between.  Not after you hurt her-" Luke began.

"Aw, here we go. Apparently it's time for a blast from the past," Jess sat down in his desk chair hard, throwing his head back.

"Rory's like a daughter to me.  She cared about you Jess, she thought you were great, for some odd reason, and then you left her hanging.  You didn't even tell her.  It hurt her.  I can't stand seeing her hurt.  You know how that is, because you couldn't either, and that's why you ran away without saying goodbye because you were chicken.  You didn't want to face up to your responsibility.  But you know what?  Just because you didn't face up to it then like a man doesn't mean it's not still your responsibility – it is.  And when you face up to that and take the brunt of the bad decisions of your past, then, you can know the details of her life, should they come from her mouth not mine, and that will be should she choose to make you privy to that side of her again.  I will not be your go-between.  I made every case in the world for you last time, with Lorelai, with everyone, saying you were a good kid, really, you wouldn't hurt her.  I stuck my neck out for you and got damn near beheaded, not once but twice.  Fool me once, shame on your, fool me once, shame on me.  It won't be me again," Luke scolded.

"Scaredy cat," Jess shot.

"Fine.  You know what?  I'm not gonna be the broken record anymore.  Just know this: you will be at my wedding.  End of story.  I'll call you when I have a date," Luke said.

"I'm 25 years old, please don't tell me that you honestly think you can tell me what to-" Jess started in when he heard the click of a phone on the other end.

Jess put his phone away and put his head down on his desk.

_"She picked you," Luke reminded him as they sat in the rowboat in the middle of the lake._

_"God knows why," Jess replied.  He couldn't believe that after all the chances she'd had to leave, she didn't.  Why didn't she just leave?  Couldn't she see she would hurt him?  She'd be better off.  … He wished she wouldn't be better off._

_"She knows, that's all the matters," Luke reassured him.  But it wasn't quite enough.  Not where Jess was coming from.  There were a million insecurities to be combated with and it was a losing battle.  He wished, so badly, that it could be enough._

He wished he would've let her win.  He wished that he would've given her a chance to love him, the way she thought she may have, the way he'd always wanted to be loved.  He wished he could know what the months ahead would hold for him … and for Rory.  And what he wanted to know, more than anything else was whether or not she had missed him the way he had missed her.

_He would be killed, alright, but he can't know whether he is killed because of the knowledge he has got or because of the knowledge which he hasn't got, and which if he had it, would save him._


End file.
